


Call Me When You're Sober

by MythicalCatie



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Angst, Bars and Pubs, Birthday, Drinking, Link's 21st Birthday, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-04 07:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14588193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicalCatie/pseuds/MythicalCatie
Summary: As they always say, the facts come out when you're drunk. On his 21st birthday, Link Neal speaks his truth.





	Call Me When You're Sober

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all! This was supposed to be a birthday present for Em's 21st birthday this past November, but was super late in getting it done. She finally got to read it and wanted me to share it with y'all, so here it is!

“Rhett, I think we should just call it a night and take a raincheck for the bar,” Link yawned, pulling his shirt off and balling it up before tossing it in the direction of a nearby hamper. He didn’t make it in, but he’d pick the article up in the morning. After the day that he had just had, he was too lazy to walk even those ten feet to move it right now. “Maybe we can do it next Saturday instead?”

Though the actual date of Link Neal’s 21st birthday had been Tuesday, June 1st, he and his lifelong best friend, Rhett McLaughlin, had just gotten around to celebrating it today, Saturday, June 5th. It was the only way that they wanted to do it as it was the only way they could do it **right** considering the fact that they had classes to attend at their college, North Carolina State University, during the week. Putting aside the fact that they had no time for festivities during the morning and afternoon of the first, Rhett had wisely decided that Link would not have a positive introduction to the biggest perk of being just over two decades old if he had to wake up early the next morning to learn about engineering while under the spell of a wicked hangover. So, their only choice was to wait for the “sweet spot” of the week, Saturday, so that they had all of Sunday to recover from the previous day’s activities. However, not unsurprisingly, the younger of the duo was, to put it mildly, exhausted after a six-thirty wake up call, especially seeing as it was now (according to the analog clock on the wall of their dorm room) thirteen and a half hours later. The more sensible choice was very clearly to postpone his “transition into **true** adulthood, man” until he could sleep half of the day away _before_ hitting the streets, but judging by the way that Rhett’s expression at Link tossing his shirt away was akin to one that he would make if the man had just dropped and shattered his most prized possession, his roommate did not think the same way.

“ **What**?!” the elder gasped in horror, taking two long strides over to the laundry basket and swiping the offending article off of the floor before tossing it back at his friend, uncaring of whether or not he actually had time to realize that it was hurtling toward him. “No way, brother. We’ve been planning this for months. Put your shirt back on, and splash some cold water on your face if you’re tired, but we’re going out. You’re young, Neal. Someday, we’ll be forty, married with children and _jobs_ , and we’ll never get a chance to close the bar again. Even if we didn’t have the responsibility, we’ll be too old and tired to party. You’re **built** for late nights **right now**! You’re in your physical prime! Why do you wanna throw the gift away while you have it?!”

“I won’t be throwing away “the gift,” he began, making use of his fingers for air quotes around the other male’s term, “by postponing a single night until a week from now. And I’m throwing _tonight,_ just tonight, away because we’ve been on the go since seven this morning, Rhett...- You woke me up at _six-thirty_ on a _Saturday_ after a full week of classes and we went out all day. I had fun, I really did, and I appreciate all the work you put into this for me, but there has to be a finish line somewhere, bo.” Link opted to leave the last part of his sentence (“ _and I think we’ve crossed it,”)_ unspoken, knowing that it was already abundantly clear by the rest of the case that he had made for staying in.  

“Yeah, and that finish line will be after a couple of celebratory margaritas or beers, birthday boy’s choice,” the taller boy completed, picking the shirt that Link had allowed to fall to the floor up and physically placing it in his grasp. “I’m not gonna let this go until you say yes,” and Heaven only knew how persistent Rhett could be; he’d keep Link awake all night just to prove his point.

Hearing that, Link was leaning toward going out just to avoid an imminent night of severe sleep-deprivation. Going out and getting home at a time as late as two in the morning was still better than staying in and being kept awake **all** night. He could sleep in in both scenarios because the next day was Sunday, but at least in the former, he’d be able to drift off at a more respectable hour (because he knew better than anybody that there was no option C where Rhett would leave him be even **if** they called it a night, the “birthday boy card” holding no power whatsoever).

Even before he spoke any words, while he was still pulling his shirt back over his head and settling the sleeves atop his shoulders, Link started to _feel_ the excitement growing  on Rhett’s face. He had won, after all. Won! “Four drinks at the most,” Link stated, rolling his eyes playfully. It was unlikely that his escort would agree to the terms once they actually reached their destination, but it couldn’t hurt to try. Of course, at the moment, it was more that he was making his wishes known and less that he was truly mandating it, though there was always the possibility that he would get lucky and Rhett would take his words into account. Probably not, but that was okay; the kid was just trying to show him a good time when it came down to things. He understood (and was thankful), even if Rhett’s way of going about it got under his skin a little bit. “And Rhett? You’re paying.”

And with that, a boisterous laugh that shook Rhett (and very nearly ruined the room’s structural integrity). “Saw that coming from Texas.”

* * *

 

Immediately upon entering the older boy’s bar of choice, Rhett and Link were assaulted with the smell of secondhand smoke and, at least in Link’s opinion, way too much perfume. From where he was standing, was improbable that it’d take more than, oh, a half of a minute for their eyes to begin watering and the shorter male’s migraine to arrive.  

“Gosh, Rhett,” he coughed, not even looking at his friend while he spoke for fear that craning his neck would cause a cloud of nicotine offage to shoot straight down his throat; things like that always rose. “I’m only twenty-one and I feel like I’ve been smoking forty years just standing here for five seconds. There weren’t any, I don’t know, _cleaner_ places in the entirety of the great state of North Carolina?”

“Hey, you were the one who wanted to get back to the dorm at a decent hour,” Rhett reminded, walking over to a seat at the bar, expecting Link to follow suit. Just as he settled on a stool, the kid appeared beside him, mirroring his previous action. “It won’t matter much as soon as you have somethin’ in ya, anyway.” Typically, if they knew that they were going to be going to a place with such fruity overtones, Rhett would have Link pop a couple of aspirin before their departure. However, even through his eagerness to get out the door, he realized that it wouldn’t be the smartest plan to mix alcohol with medication even **if** it was a light impact dosage.

“Aren’t you worried about your health coming to places like these? You could get lung cancer just passing through here.” Link had always been the worrier of the two of them, and even after fifteen years worth of opportunities, Rhett still hadn’t managed to lighten him up. Oh well. They had the rest of their lives for that. There was plenty of time left for the college student to stop acting like an overly concerned and protective great-grandmother.

Before Rhett had time for a rapid-fire witty response, though, the bartender noticed their presence and approached their area. She was an older lady with greying brown hair and a kind smile on her face that only brightened when she saw one of the world’s next civil engineers sitting at her bar.

“Hey, Rhett,” she greeted cheerily with a drawl so thick that she stuck out even in the middle of the South. “How’re things, honey? Haven’t seen you around the past few weeks.”

Rhett’s mouth split into a grin at seeing the bartender, Elsie, a woman with whom he had had quite a few very lovely chats with in the past. The man had explained on the ride over that they were on friendly terms because he came here sometimes with Gregg and Elsie remembers the names of people who come in during her shifts more than twice, so no, he is **not** an alcoholic for the bartender to know him by name, but rather, she’s just **really** good at the social aspect of her job. Link being filled in before their arrival allowed him to refrain from making that very joke.

“I’m good, just been cramming for finals. Can’t drink too much. Gotta keep myself sharp, you know?” The same could be said for Gregg, but he could explain it for himself the next time he stopped in. “But tonight’s the exception ‘cause my buddy Link here,” Rhett laid a hand (more of a paw, really) on Link’s shoulder, “Hit the big twenty-one this Tuesday. Tell me, Els, what kind of twenty-first birthday would it be if I didn’t take him to meet the best bartender this side of the Mississippi has ever seen?”

“I hope you’re not hoping to get a free drink out of me with that sweet talk, sugar, because that’ll only be happenin’ in your dreams. But the famous Link, you say, huh?” she asked before directing her attention to the subject of the exchange. “Nice to finally meet ya, darlin’. Heard a lot of things. This one over here,” Elsie jabbed a thumb in Rhett’s direction, “never shuts up about ya. I’d bet the boy couldn’t go one visit without your name on his tongue.” She could swear that from everything she’d overheard and all that had been said to her directly, she could recount the boys’ childhood just about as well as they themselves were able.  

Link had to make an effort, and a special one at that, to shove down the way that his stomach fluttered upon being provided with that information. Of _course_ Rhett talked about him to people. They’d been best friends for almost as long as they had been alive, for Heaven’s sake! It was no surprise that the majority of his material for conversations revolved around the man that he spent the bulk of his time with. It was normal, and there was no need to feel this way about it. But even though it was gone, Link could still feel the sensation of Rhett’s hand on him lingering, and he’d a liar if he said it didn’t make fighting his whole-body blush harder.

“Is that right?” he asked, his internal panic solely focused on keeping signs of embarrassment out of his tone. The less he said on the subject, the better. Keep it short, Neal. Wrap this up. “Good to hear I’m not falling out of favor.” Good. Good. Cracking a joke was good. Teasing was _good._ If it was bad to sound embarrassed, it was worse to appear disinterested.

“Yes, sir, it is. I swear, if I had a dollar for every time I heard your name, I could retire in Italy right this moment. So, I’ll have to see your identification, Link, but what can I get you pair?”

While Link lifted up to retrieve his wallet (which Rhett had him bring even **if** he wasn’t the one paying; he didn’t have the kind of face that screamed ‘of age’), Rhett answered for both himself and his buddy. “I’ll take a beer,-” Rhett informed as Link passed over his driver’s license. He could tell that his friend was nervous about whatever was going to be ordered for him by the way his eyes struggled against his efforts to blow wide, “- and a nice glass of warm milk for Mr. Rogers over here, please.”

Despite the fact that the comment emitted a clipped snort, Link shoved Rhett in response (though not at all with any intention other than to be playful) with one hand as he took his license back with the other. “Shut up,” he mumbled, shooting the older male a side-eye. “A beer is fine, thanks.”

“Two beers comin’ right up.”

* * *

 

As it turned out, the beer that Link had ordered himself was a bust. After one sip, he could tell that he was **not** a fan of the taste, but took a second to confirm anyway before passing it over to Rhett to polish off. In place of it, he decided on Rhett’s other suggestion, a margarita, of which he got the frozen variety at Elsie’s suggestion. Instantly, he knew that that was the better choice for him and finished the whole thing in under five minutes. That was an hour ago.

Now, he was on his third chilled drink, and Rhett was getting ready to pull it away. He was almost convinced by this point that it was time to give the alcohol a little break, to replace it with water until enough time passed for this to stop. Link was never this touchy-feely when he was sober. Sure, they hugged, tended to stay close to one another, and even slept in the same bed when their situation mandated it, but Link had never been this **handsy** unless he was seriously hurt and needed the contact. He usually kept his body to himself out of respect for Rhett. **Tonight** , though, it was as if all of that had gone out the window. Rhett had lost count of how many times Link had placed his hand on his thigh and left it there, of how many times he leaned over for a hug and waited until **Rhett** pulled away to let go. He was sure that if those stools weren’t essentially bolted to the floor, Link would have moved it over to get closer and stay there, too. It must have been the alcohol talking, because this was the first time that this, or even something like it, had happened. Maybe this was just the way that his body reacted to drinking. Everybody was different, after all. He knew that, and it would have been foolish of him not to expect… _something_. It was normal. It was fine. But that didn’t mean that it didn’t need to be dealt with before it got too out of hand.

“Link, brother, I think it’s time we lay off the frozen margaritas for a bit,” he said softly, gently removing his friend’s hand from the glass and sliding it toward himself. He hadn't had much else than water; he was sure he would still be okay to drive if he finished it off.

Link didn’t put up very much of a fight, or really one at all, when his glass was taken away from him, but as Rhett soon learned, it was only because he was under the impression that “laying off” the margaritas didn’t mean doing away with drinking adult beverages entirely. “Mmkay. Time for somethin’ harder?” Link asked with a bit of a slur, his southern drawl more prominent due to the fact that he was slightly inebriated. “Whiskey?” he continued to inquire in a way that told Rhett that what he was asking was more of a request than looking to him for answers.

“Nah,” the taller boy responded gingerly, hoping that Elsie saw him flag her down; the bar had gotten substantially busier in the sixty minutes since they arrived. “We’re gonna get you some nice Poland Spring or somethin’, and maybe we’ll shoot a game of pool while you rehydrate yourself.” That was, of course, seeing as darts were a dangerous game for Link in general; he couldn’t imagine playing them when he wasn’t sober. Conveniently, it had the added benefit of putting them, for the most part, far away from one another. The less opportunity Link had to get close, at least for right now, the better. “The last thing we need is you collapsing from not having enough water in your system.”

Regardless of the fact that Rhett was trying to sober Link up, the kid should be having water for that very reason. Plus, maybe it would work a little magic if he had enough of it and reduce the severity of the following morning’s hangover. It was smart that he had thought of it because of **that**. Not because he was trying to… get this to stop. But **this** , this was what he **wanted** , though. Right? He dragged Link to this bar for the sole **intention** of walking out with him thoroughly blitzed. With the intention of him dancing on tables, kissing strangers, and barely being able to remember his **own** name, never mind that of the person who’d brought him. Of him coming out of the experience so plastered that he would have to be fireman carried to the car. All of those things. But did he ask for **this** , for what he got?

He must have. Anything was a possibility, after all, **especially** considering that before tonight, Rhett didn’t know what kind of person Link was when he drank. Well, save for the time when they were seventeen and followed Jeff Autry’s instructions for homemade wine, but now that he was an adult and could consume alcoholic beverages that were _not_ produced in the storage closet of his bathroom, he hardly counted it (a large factor being that it failed to actually intoxicate either of them.) Anything was a possibility, and he needed to have accounted for, or at the very least, anticipated any or all of them, the more... intimate outcomes encompassed. But how could he have known that **this** was one? He had never run into somebody who acted this way when tipsy. He’d seen people who couldn’t hold their fill, people who experienced rage, people who _cried_ , but not… not people whose hands travelled further up his leg with each drink and found their home dangerously close to an area that only he and a select few females had had access to past the age of six or so. Not people who tried to get so close that they _became_ the person sitting on the barstool next to them. Not people who stopped being _friendly_ and crossed into something more instead. Maybe that made him naïve. Maybe he was inexperienced. But it just hadn’t crossed his path. Until tonight, that is. Right here. Now. With _Link._

He didn’t know that this could happen before right here, right now, when it played out before his own two eyes. It wasn’t even within the realm of things that he thought _could_ occur, for Christ’s sake. But now that he does, now that it _is_ , he needs it to end. To cease to exist in reality, for his own sanity, because the closer Link got, the more he spoke, the more Rhett was dug into a hole that he feared he’d never get out of. The closer he came, the more formally the opportunity presented itself to lean in and _take_ it. To grab him and kiss him and finally act on the feelings that he’d been able to shove down since they were stupid little kids, but he couldn’t have that. Probably not ever, but **absolutely** not tonight. Not when Link wasn’t one hundred percent sober, not when he wasn’t in his right mind. Not when he wasn’t thinking clearly. It wouldn’t be right to take advantage of the situation, of _Link,_ for his own personal gain. It wasn’t right and he would never dare. It would have to wait for a night where **both** of them were in their peak mental states, not just one. It was **going** to wait until then, no matter how difficult the challenge. He was **going** to do the _right_ thing.  

“We came here to get drunk, Rhett,” Link reminded, smacking his hand down on the bar for emphasis. “And last time **I** checked? Poland Spring is non-alcoholic. We came here to _party_! No water.”

Rhett sighed deeply, gesturing to his own glass of clear liquid. “Just because we’re here to get you wasted doesn’t mean you don’t need to have water. It’s completely separate, bo.” _Maybe lay off the nicknames tonight. “_ See? I’m drinking water. You just need it so you don’t get too sick. A hangover’s one thing but dehydration’s another.”

Link gave his best attempt at an “are you kidding me?” face, coming back with, “That’s only because you’re the devastated… deserated-”

“Designated?” Rhett cut in, having a good idea of where Link was going with his train of thought and wanting to speed it up (they’d be here for a half an hour if he let him go on.)

“Thank you!- driver and you needa be… you can’t drink too much so you need water.”

“Yes, I am drinking water because I can’t have much else, but I drink it when I’m **trying** to get drunk, too.” Okay, maybe he didn’t do it as much as he should, but that information should only be given out on a need-to-know basis, and Link did _not_ need to know. “I do it, Gregg does it, everybody smart does it. You’re studying to be an engineer, which means you must be pretty smart, right? C’mon, just one glass-,” it was better than nothing, “- and then you can go back to margaritas or whatever else you want. One glass. All I’m asking.”

Link squinted his eyes suspiciously at this statement, doubting that it would hold validity once he had held up his end of the bargain. Then again, Rhett’s mission of the night **was** to get him drunk. He wouldn’t make him consume any more water than absolutely necessary, would he?

“One glass?” he echoed. “Swear?”

Rhett breathed a sigh of relief when, after what must’ve been his thousandth attempt, he finally caught Elsie’s eye and she made her way over.  

“One glass.”

* * *

 

One glass of water turned into two, and so did their pool games, but neither of them helped. Despite the non-alcoholic content of his drinks, Link continued to take every opportunity that he could do get close to Rhett; to touch him, to feel him, and even at one point to smell him. And then, when Rhett was half bent over a pool table, after another margarita (at Rhett’s behest, but he had sworn) they came. The words that he was afraid he’d never hear, but that he was scared to hear tonight.

“Hey, Rhett?” Link asked, his eyes glued to Rhett’s ass. It was only fair to look when it was in the air like that. “I love you.”

“I.. I love you too, Link,” Rhett stammered, and he meant it in more ways than one, but Link only needed to hear the first.

“No,” Link slurred, almost as if he was annoyed by the fact that the feeling was mutual. “That’s not what I mean. _I love you_ like I’m in love with you.”

Rhett could swear that his heart stopped upon hearing those words. His mind raced a million miles a minute asking questions like, _Does he really or is it the alcohol talking? Didn’t they say true feelings come out when you’re drunk? How long has he loved me? Can we have something?_ And he was ready to fall into the fantasy of being married with children and dogs and a white picket fence, and then he snapped back into reality. They were in a bar in rural, conservative North Carolina and Link had confessed a sin, _his_ sin, rather loudly. It was time to get out of here.

Rhett grabbed his best friend’s arm and walked him over to the bar, hurrying to pay their tab before hauling him out of the joint.

Link whined the whole way, of course, complaining about his unfinished margarita and how if Rhett wanted him to have fun, they needed to stay, but the blond just ignored him. He was worried about bigger things right now, namely never being able to show his face, or Link his, in this town ever again.

But still, as he dragged Link out to the car, he couldn’t help but drift back into daydreaming. He only had to hope that his hopes weren’t dashed come morning.

* * *

 

Link passed out almost as soon as they got home, but Rhett was up all night thinking about what he had been told back at the bar. “ **_I love you_ ** _like I’m in love with you,”_ was on a constant loop in his brain along with the questions that his mind raced through at the bar and even more than that. It seemed like every question that he managed to answer, ten more popped up in their place.

It was torture waiting for Link to wake up. He took forever, and by the time that he did actually open his eyes, Rhett could just barely keep his own open. But he was as respectful as he could be, allowing Link to go to the bathroom, brush his teeth, and complain about a headache (that Rhett could tell was a subdued version of a hangover; the water must have helped) before even saying good morning.

He put on a pot of coffee to help with the hangover while Link was in the shower and he had two cups ready, one for each of them, by the time the younger man came out. Once Link was halfway through his cup was when he decided to make his move and ask the question that had, above all others, burned the hottest in his head all night.

“Hey, Link?”

“Yeah, Rhett?” Link asked, taking another sip of his coffee. Rhett had always somehow managed to make it better than he could. He didn’t know how, but he was definitely grateful, especially now.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” _If he even remembers._ “Last night at the bar?”

Link raised an eyebrow, looking up from his steaming cup of coffee, which he pulled away from his face to speak.

“What did I say last night?” It didn’t take long for him to remember, though. Almost as soon as the words came out of his mouth, the night flashed before his eyes and he knew **exactly** what Rhett was talking about. It brought a panicked looked to his eyes, and he was red from horror and embarrassment in a second flat.

“Rhett, I... I didn’t mean to- I’m so sorry. I was drunk, I wasn’t trying to…” Link stammered, trying to find any way at all out of this. It was true, of course, what he had said, but he didn’t know if Rhett felt that way too, the _wrong_ way. He couldn’t believe he had outed himself both as non-straight and **in** love with his best friend in the same night, in the same _sentence_. He was never drinking again. “I’m so sorry. Please forget that ever happened.” Honestly, all Link wanted to do right now was curl up into a ball and die. It would be the only way out of this situation, after all. Rhett was so pushy.

He almost ran, but Rhett realized it and put his hands on his shoulders to steady him. They were going to have this conversation, difficult or not. They needed to, and they both knew it. Link was just scared.

“No, Link,” Rhett said, giving him a soft, reassuring smile. “It’s okay. I think… No. I _know_ , I’m in love with you, too.” 


End file.
